“So, you don’t spend your time writing letters. What do you do for pleasure? Other than exploring, that is. Do you play an instrument? Are you a great storyteller?”
He chuckled. “I’m not a great storyteller, although I like to hear a good tale. I remember my father used to sing us songs that told stories.” His brow furrowed. “I wish I could remember some of them. There was one about a ship sailing to see a dragon, but I can’t recall anything else. Not even the tune.” Sadness cloaked his eyes, but then he seemed to make an effort to pull out of his thoughts. “I have a mouth harp, but I’m not very good at playing it.”
“You have it with you?” She couldn’t deny a yearning to know what was out there in the rest of the world. There must be so much that they didn’t know about, being hidden away in Laurent as they were. She loved this village, loved her home and everything about their life—mostly. But . . . what might they be missing out on?
“In one of my packs. Does anyone here play?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of such a thing. A mouth harp, I mean, I’ve seen sketches of other harps. But we don’t have anything like that here. How big is your mouth harp?” It couldn’t be large. She’d looked through hispacks after Papa did but hadn’t seen anything that looked like a musical instrument. There were a few items she’d not known, but all were fairly small.
He held up his hand, palm facing up. “A little longer than my fingers. I wasn’t lying when I said I’m not good at it, but it would be nice to pass the time with something to do.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “The days get long.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I hope we can get you outside more. Once things settle down.”
The warmth in his eyes soaked all the way through her. “I understand.”
His gaze said he didn’t blame her for the way she’d treated him. Maybe if he looked at her that way long enough, she could let go of some of her guilt. She didn’t regret putting Laurent’s safety first, but she did regret treating this man like a criminal and shooting an arrow into his flesh. Not that she would change her past actions if she could...
Time to direct the conversation to a lighter topic. “Tell me, when is your special day? The day of your birth.”
His brows rose. “My birthday?” The question seemed to flummox him.
She nodded, hooking her teeth on her lip to tether her smile.
“The sixteenth day of February. Why?” He seemed truly confused. Maybe he thought she still harbored animosity toward him. Or maybe they didn’t celebrate birthdays where he’d come from.
She gave him a secretive smile. “We try to make special days special around here.” No need to say more.
“Hmm.” His brows formed a line as he concentrated. “When is your special day?”
“The sixth of May.” Would Evan still be here? She couldn’t think that far into the future. So many things might happen before then. In truth, she still didn’t fully know why he’d come to this area. And the council’s vote loomed closer ...
A needle of warning wove through her chest, but she pushed it away. She would address those concerns later. For now, she wanted to know why he was looking at her with such curiosity.
“So, what does Laurent do to make the sixth of May special for you?” He tipped his head as he waited for her response.
Memories flooded her mind. Her mother had been the chief planner for her youngest birthdays, taking delight in each surprise and plotting gifts Brielle still treasured. Brielle had taken over that planning for Charlotte and Andre, along with Papa’s help.
She shrugged but couldn’t help a smile. “No more than what we do for everyone.” Traditions had grown throughout the years, spreading through most of the families in the village. “Once, on my father’s birthday, we made five dozen of Father’s favorite fruit pastries and hid them all over our home and his workshop. He ate so much I think he grew sick, but he never said so.” The pleasure on his face still sent a warmth through her. Papa wasn’t often affectionate, but he’d wrapped her in a warm hug and kissed her forehead. She could still remember the shelter of that hold.
“I can see why he liked that.” Evan’s eyes lit in a way that made her want to draw closer. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him that story. Perhaps she and Audrey could have done the same for him when his day came. He certainly possessed an affinity for Audrey’s rolls drizzled with honey.
“Who’s thewe?”
She studied him, trying to make sense of the question.
He must have read her confusion. “You saidwemade his favorite pastry. You and your sister?”
She nodded. “And Audrey. My baked goods tend to come out scorched, but Audrey can manage them with perfection.” Only one of the many things Audrey excelled at. If the woman wasn’t such a dear, kind soul, Brielle might struggle to keep her jealousy at bay. But her friend had been a light during some of the Durand family’s darkest times.
Evan leaned forward. “That reminds me, I was telling Philip about the cookstoves we have back in America. It’s a large metal box that you build a fire inside. The surface on top helps spread the heat more evenly for cooking and baking. If your father does metal work, it shouldn’t be hard for him. I could sketch it if you have ink or charcoal and paper. There’s a pencil in my pack you can bring me.”
She had no idea what a pencil was, probably one of those things she’d not recognized from his supplies. But the idea of building something to help with cooking was an excellent one.
If this cookstove spread the heat evenly enough, perhaps even she could manage a decent meal with it. Not that the thought of bending over a cook fire added to her eagerness in any way. But she did sometimes envy Audrey’s abilities. Charlotte had even surpassed Brielle’s skill with food long ago.
It just had never seemed to matter whether she could cook. There hadn’t been anyone to impress with her abilities. No man had ever sparked her interest enough to wonder what it would be like to cook for him. If she could make rolls aslight and fluffy as Audrey’s, how would it feel to receive the appreciation he gave her friend?
But she shouldn’t think that way. For now, best to focus on Evan’s offer. “I’ll bring your packs. We have ink and parchment, too.” The paper was hard to come by, so she almost never used it. Maybe she should find a flat rock for him to sketch on. As long as they could carry the stone to the place where they would build this creation, which should probably be placed in Audrey’s apartment.
